


Spark (the not-quite-first-draft of nightmares)

by CharmsDealer



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Canonical Character Death, DADA teacher Kate, Gen, Multi, Prefect Derek, Prefect Erica, blend of hogwarts and teen wolf magic, hints at violence, lil bit of angst, may contain art, onesided Stiles/Lydia, so much Hufflepuff, subject to edits
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-20
Updated: 2014-03-22
Packaged: 2018-01-16 09:22:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1342018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CharmsDealer/pseuds/CharmsDealer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After his mother's funeral Stiles and his dad moved to Beacon Heights for a fresh start, but when an acceptance letter from Hogwarts arrives for Stiles his dad must learn to let him go and Stiles must learn about his mother's world, a world of magic and hidden dangers. </p><p>1) tags, warnings, and characters will be added as they appear.</p><p>2) don't trust me at all O.O this could be subject to deletion, overhaul changes and more until I'm finished.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Letter

Number twenty four Beacon Heights was sometimes called ‘the missing house’ because it was set aside from the rest of the estate. It was tucked into a corner and concealed by a tall hedgerow, leading people to overlook it.

There was a bright blue mailbox at the end of the long driveway that ensured that at least the postmen knew where the Stilinskis lived, and every morning Stiles would run down and check it, bringing back the milk and a newspaper that were left directly underneath.

Summer was drawing to a close, and as the days got shorter Stiles knew it was only a matter of time before he and his dad had The Talk. The talk about what secondary school he was going to.

Stiles wasn’t good at school. He wasn’t clever, he was a ‘smart alec’; he wasn’t participatory, he was ‘out of turn’; he wasn’t inquisitive, he was a ‘nuisance.’ He didn’t get on with any of his teachers as a result, and the headmistress never believed him when he said he was sorry, or that he tended to make things happen by accident. Once his classmates realised how easy it was to tease him for his distractibility and short temper, he became somewhat of a game to them and they were always trying to push him that little bit harder. He'd gotten into a few fights, and spent more time in the Headmaster's office than he liked to admit.

He couldn’t remember having a single friend after he and his dad moved to Beacon. He wasn’t allowed to tell anyone why strange things always happened around him, or why he had such a weird first name, or anything. So he was just that weird kid that kept everything to themselves and didn’t invite anyone over to his house. It was better than being called crazy.

“Post’s here,” Stiles said. His dressing gown had come undone and there were bits of leafy debris on his slippers. Autumn was creeping in. Stiles passed by the toaster to pop in two slices of bread and then checked that his father hadn’t taken any more of the butter while he was gone.

“Anything good?” his dad asked, pretending that he hadn’t been watching Stiles check under the lid of the butter dish. Stiles put the newspaper on the kitchen table and his dad opened it up with a sigh. Stiles put the bottles of milk in the fridge and then began to shuffle through the letters.

“Bills bills and more bills...oh look. This one’s for me.”

“What are they billing you for? Existence?” his dad muttered, turning the page.

“No,” Stiles said irritably. He corrected himself, “I mean that this is an actual _letter_ for me.” He flicked the bills over his shoulder – some of them landed on the counter – and tore open the envelope. He scanned the first line of the parchment and his mouth dropped open.

“Oh my god,” he said, trying the words in his mouth, “It’s _Hogwarts._ It’s the school! It’s _mom’s school-“_

His dad got up from the table and crossed the kitchen in two quick steps. He took the letter from Stiles and started to scan it with his eyes, brow furrowing. Stiles tried to take it back, but his dad lifted the letter until he was reading it, still more furiously, well over Stiles’ head.

“Don’t crumple it! I didn’t even get to read it properly yet!”

His dad didn’t seem to be listening. “I can’t believe that after all these years, the first letter we get...”

“Hey!” Stiles said again, indignantly. “Why are you mad? This is brilliant! It means I don’t have to go away to that dumb old boarding school in-” he slapped a hand over his mouth, but not quite soon enough. His dad wasn’t supposed to know that he’d seen the brochures. They were in the drawer of his bedside table, after all.

His dad didn’t look shocked, but then again, he knew Stiles better than anyone. “St. Lawrence is not ‘dumb’ –and- it was the only school that even considered taking you on!” his dad exploded. “Do you think I really want to send you away to another _country_?”

Stiles clenched his hands into fists. “Don’t you?” he asked. He regretted the words immediately, but his throat closed up and before he had a chance to say he was sorry, his dad’s arms were around him and Stiles was breathing into his soft cotton shirt. His dad was warm and he smelled so _safe_... But Stiles was nearly twelve, and he wasn’t a kid anymore.

“I want to go,” he said. “I have to.”

His dad held Stiles for a long time. He squeezed Stile’s shoulder and took a step back. “I understand; believe me I do. But Hogwarts, magic? It’s dangerous, and there’s a reason I was trying to find you a school somewhere else. _Far_ somewhere else.”

Stiles took a deep gulp of air. “What happened to mom...”

His dad looked years older when he got that far-off, lonely look. “What happened to your mother happened because of some very dangerous people- people that I can’t protect you from.”

Stiles only knew bits and pieces. His memory of Before was jumbled up, but he remembered visiting St. Mungo’s hospital to see his mother in the weeks before she died, and having to move after the funeral so that he and his dad could make a fresh start.

None of his mom’s friends tried to contact them afterwards, and life had been sort of quiet ever since. They had an old photo album with moving pictures hidden away in the back of Stiles’ closet, but that was it. It was like she never existed.

“I guess I always knew this day would come,” his dad said, “I just… I always thought your mom would be around to help you. I don’t know a lot about,” he took a deep breath, “ _magic,_ but it’s a part of you, just like it was part of her.” He handed Stiles the letter. “If you go to Hogwarts, you have to promise me that you won’t go looking for trouble.”

“Okay,” Stiles said slowly. He didn’t want to make a promise he couldn’t keep; trouble seemed to follow him like a stray dog begging for scraps, and the dog had _killer_ puppy eyes.

“But you also have to promise me that you won’t tell anyone about your mom. They still haven’t caught the person that attacked her, and I don’t want you to get mixed up in any of it. It’s the only way I can think of to keep you safe.”

Stiles’ heart jumped. It wasn’t like the thought hadn’t crossed his mind. He swallowed around the lump in his throat before he replied.

“I promise not to tell anyone about mom.”

His dad sat down at the table and tried to pick up his newspaper again. Stiles could tell he wasn’t really reading it, but he didn't say anything as he popped some bread into the toaster and sat down in his own chair.

“I suppose we’re going to Diagon Alley tomorrow. I just hope I can remember where it is…”


	2. The Sorting Hat

The door to the compartment banged open and Stiles startled awake. For a second he knew that he’d been dreaming about something. There was a woman, he thought, and a smile? Perhaps his mother... but no, the dream hadn’t felt warm. He blinked rapidly and the feeling was gone again just as quickly.

An older boy stuck his head through the door and barked, “Wake up. Change into your robes!”

Stiles jerked like a puppet on strings, tumbling off the seat and falling face-first onto the carpet. His cheek burned when he lifted his head. The door had already been slammed shut again and Stiles heard the boy’s stomping feet retreat back the way they had come, heading towards the front of the train.

“Charming,” he muttered, and set about opening his trunk. He pulled his robes on over his t-shirt and jeans then stuffed his luggage back under the seat. He wasn’t going to be able to get back to sleep again but he propped his head up against the window anyway and stared out at the flat blackness pressing on the train.

He’d fallen asleep that morning staring out at the miles and miles of open countryside, hypnotized by the blur of green fields and thick woods. It was so dark outside now. There wasn’t even a hint of moonlight.

He glanced at the door as if it might open again, but he was at the end of the train and as far as he knew, the car was mostly empty. He wondered about his dad; was he working late? Would he remember to eat? Would he use Stiles’ absence as an excuse to let his diet slide? Stiles’ stomach churned as the train began to slow and he caught sight of Hogsmeade Station. Well, he’d come this far. He would just have to go a bit further.

-

After a boat ride across a lake and a steep climb up stone steps to reach the castle, Stiles knew the only thing keeping him going was adrenaline, and he’d managed to get some sleep on the train. He was only half-listening to Professor Blake as she talked about ‘the ceremony’.

“It is of the utmost importance that the ceremony be done properly,” Professor Blake kept saying, but she wouldn’t say what the ceremony _was,_ exactly.

Her words washed over him and he became absorbed with a large tapestry that detailed some kind of battle with creatures that looked like the goblins from Gringotts, only they were more savagely depicted and carried swords.

“Is the sorting hat a test?” Somebody asked. Stiles followed the voice over his shoulder. It belonged to a boy with shaggy brown hair and sallow skin. He looked a little nervous at the prospect.

“It is in a way. The sorting hat will ask you questions, and based on your answers you will be put into the house which most reflects your values.”

Professor Blake left to make the ‘final preparations’ and Stiles held out his hand. “Hey, I’m Stiles. I think we were in the same boat.”

The boy smiled easily and replied, “Yeah, I remember. I’m Scott, Scott McCall.” After a pause, Scott asked, “Do you know what house you’re going to be in?”

Stiles blinked. “Um, isn’t that what the sorting hat’s for?” he laughed nervously. Was he supposed to know?

Scott shrugged. “People usually get put into the same houses as their parents. That’s what my mom told me anyway.”

“What house was your mom in?” Stiles asked casually.

“...Ravenclaw,” Scott admitted after a pause. “But I don’t think I’m very clever.”

“Do you have to be?”

Scot frowned. “Well, Ravenclaw is the smart house. Gryffindor’s for if you’re really brave and Hufflepuff takes just about everyone else.”

“What about Slytherin?” Stiles pressed.

“Slytherin is the best house if you want to be successful, everybody knows that,” another boy interrupted. His eyes zeroed in on Stiles’ trainers, peeking out from underneath his robe. “But of course you don’t know anything, do you,  _muggle born.”_

“What’s it to you?” he asked, bristling. He bit his tongue to stop himself correcting the boy’s assumption. He’d promised.

The boy’s lips thinned. “Clearly, this school is lowering its standards if it’s letting in your sort.”

“Shut up, Jackson,” Scott said, putting a hand on Stiles’ arm, looking between them worriedly.

Jackson sniffed. “I expected better from you, McCall,” he said and turned on his heel, stalking back to his little group.

“That’s just Jackson. He’s very... He’s a Whittemore,” Scott said, as if that explained anything.

“Prick,” Stiles muttered. As soon as he said it, his stomach dropped and he heard Jackson yelp. When he looked, he saw that Jackson had tumbled forward and landed on the floor as if someone invisible had just given him a kick up the bum.

There was a titter of nervous laughter as Jackson got to his feet, one hand on his bottom. “Who did that!” He hissed, eyes lashing around the room before they locked on Stiles, who ducked his head guiltily, even though he certainly hadn't done anything. “ _You-”_

Suddenly, the large wooden doors opened wide, and before Jackson could work himself up to a proper accusation the fist years were ushered forwards. Professor Blake was at the top of the stage, holding a long scroll of parchment in one hand. There was a wooden stool next to her. Resting on top of it was a hat that looked like it had been made out of several pairs of old boots...and then sat on repeatedly.

Stiles cast his eyes around the hall as the first years trundled onto the stage. It was lit by thousands upon thousands of floating candles, stretching all the way to the ceiling which seemed to go on forever until it touched the stars. Four long tables took up the entirety of the hall. They were packed with students seated in ascending order of year. There were such a lot of them, and they were all staring expectantly at the stage as Professor Blake cleared her throat and picked up the hat. The ceremony had begun.

“Argent, Allison,” Professor Blake read. A considering murmur started in the hall and Stiles craned his neck to see over the top of people’s heads.

A girl, tall for her age with jaw-length brown hair, marched to the wooden stool and sat down. Her movements were stiff with nerves and she sat with the straightest back in the hall. Professor Blake gently lowered the hat until it was perched on top of her head and she had barely worn the hat five seconds before it roared “GRYFFINDOR!” and there was a loud burst of applause, the loudest of which could be heard coming from the table furthest to the left.

Allison stood up and cast a beaming smile over her shoulder, towards the Professor’s table. Stiles followed her gaze to a pretty blonde woman, who was standing up and clapping enthusiastically. A few of the other teachers were smiling too. Allison hopped down from the stage and joined the end of the Gryffindor table, sliding into place as though she belonged. Her tie had changed from neutral grey to red and gold, the same colours as both the table cloth and the large red banner with a picture of a lion hanging on the wall behind.

“Ashby, William.”

“SLYTHERIN!”

“Blaine, Zelda.”

“RAVENCLAW!”

Heather Caster was the first Hufflepuff, and she bounced to the third table, the one decked in yellow and black. An older girl, a cousin or a sister, maybe, came down from her end of the table to shake Heather’s hand and gave her a warm hug.

There was another lot of Slytherins, which made the table on the far right whistle and cheer loudly, grinning smugly across the room. Another Gryffindor, a Ravenclaw... and then, then there was Lydia Martin. The group of first years were thinning and Stiles and Scott had been shunted to the front, so he was quite close to the proceedings now. Close enough to hear a bit of what was going on.

When Martin, Lydia took center stage she turned toward the main hall with a mega-watt smile. She was petite with strawberry blond hair that gleamed like red gold in the candlelight. Her eyes were large and thickly lashed and her lips were pursed cutely, showing off her dimples. She was the prettiest girl he’d ever seen in his entire life and his breath caught when she brushed past. The hat was placed over her head and she folded her hands neatly in her lap.

The hat quivered to life and opened its mouth wide as if to bellow out, even faster than it had decided on Allison, Lydia’s house, but the fold over its brim snapped shut almost immediately when Lydia cocked her head and said primly, “Nope.”

Stiles was close enough that he heard the hat whisper, “But, surely you-“

“-Hufflepuff.”

“But,” it spluttered.

Lydia’s smile became fixed. “Mmmm…Hufflepuff.”

“Now listen here-“

“Hufflepuff.”

“- I am the sorting hat, and I-“

Lydia smiled sweetly. “Look you leathery old fashion abomination, I will _not_ have you embarrass me here in front of all these people. If you put me in Slytherin, or, Merlin forbid, _Ravenclaw,_ I will break into the Headmistress’s office and set you on fire. There will be nothing left except a charred lump of leather, and I will be first in line to charm your replacement. Let’s try again, shall we? Huffle. _Puff._ ”

After a tense second the hat growled and finally muttered, “Hufflepuff,” which Professor Blake had to repeat more loudly.

Lydia hopped off of the stool and curtsied, showing off her transformed robes, and then skipped to the end of the Hufflepuff table to join Heather and Eloise.

“McCall, Scott.”

Scott took a deep breath and Stiles gave him a pat on the arm. “You’ve got this buddy,”

“I think I’m going to be sick,” Scott whispered.

“No, you’re going to be fine,” Stiles assured him. “And I’ll be right behind you.”

When the sorting hat was placed over Scott’s head the hat grumbled. Scott clenched fistfuls of his robe and cast a panicked look over his shoulder. Stiles did the first thing that came to mind and gave him two thumbs up. Scott’s brow crinkled in puzzlement before his head was jerked back around by the sorting hat.

“HUFFLEPUFF,” the hat declared wearily. Stiles watched Scott step carefully down off the stage, his relief visible. A few more names were called and then, finally, there was just him and Jackson left. Jackson was resolutely not looking at him. Oh dear. This was it. And worst of all, Professor Blake was going to call out his full name. He’d never live the embarrassment down.

Professor Blake raised the list and started to call, “Stilinski, G—“

There was a loud bang and several heads tuned at once to look for the source of the noise, which seemed to have come from everywhere at once. Stiles winced. _Subtle. Real subtle, Stilinski._

Stiles hurried forward. “Um- hi, yes, I’m Stilinski. Stiles. My name is Stiles,” he said, giving Professor Blake a significant, pleading look.

“Right, yes, um...Stiles...” she said, handing him the hat. He was glad that the hat covered most of his head because he thought he heard laughter. At least the inside of the hat smelled better than it looked.

“Stillinski... can’t say I’ve heard that name before. You’ve got a good head, firm resolve...but are you thirsty for recognition?”

The voice seemed to come from inside his head and he hoped that the hat couldn’t actually read his thoughts. It was a while before Stiles realised he was supposed to answer. “Um, no, not really,” he replied, thinking about the promise. “Actually, I want very much not to be noticed.”

The hat ‘hmmm’d, and sunk a little further over Stiles’ ears.

“I think,” said Stiles, “I think I just want to belong.”

“You could belong in any house you choose,” assured the hat. “But this is about your future! Who do you want to be? Who are you meant to be?”

He squeaked when the hat took control of his head, jerking it this way and that. He hadn’t been keeping track of the time, but the sorting hat had only taken a few minutes for everyone else.

_I’ll be right behind you._

“I want to be in the same house as Scott,” Stiles said firmly. “What was it called?”

“Hufflepuff?”

“Yes- that one!” He grinned. “Hufflepuff.”

When the hat was lifted from his head, the Hufflepuff table cheered and Stiles was flooded with a feeling of triumph. Scott had saved him a seat and when Stiles sank down onto the polished bench he could have cried with happiness. He grinned at the others and felt a sense of connection. He peeked at Lydia briefly before he looked up at the stage where Jackson was sitting with the sorting hat covering most of his face.

“Told you there was nothing to worry about,” he whispered to Scott, just before the hat roared,

“HUFFLEPUFF!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Read the Derek POV of the scene on the train :D 
> 
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/1373056


	3. Settling In

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: Combined chapters 3 & 4.

As soon as the noise died down and the sorting hat was carried from the stage, the woman sitting in the centre of the Professor's table stood and raised her goblet to the room. Her voice rang clearly through the hall and she said "Welcome, new students, to your first year at Hogwarts. I trust that your journey was pleasant and that you are excited to embark on your journey of knowledge. I am your Headmistress, Marin Morrell."

Morrell was dressed in long midnight blue robes with an indigo shawl wrapped around her shoulders. When she moved, it glittered with embroidered gold and silver stars. Her long, sleek hair fell to her waist and hung perfectly straight.  
"As returning students know, each year I must remind you that while the care of our students is our highest priority, there are occasionally areas that are out of bounds. It is up to you to heed warnings from members of staff and observe your own safety. The Forbidden Forest, as it's name suggests, remains _forbidden,_ not just to first years but to all years.  
I wish you all a good evening and the best of luck to those taking their OWLS and NEWTS this year."Morrell resumed her seat and the empty serving platters shimmered. Suddenly, the dinner plates were heaped with food and the hall became noisy.

Scott began to dig in, like the fact that food appearing out of thin air was perfectly normal, and Stiles followed his lead. Soon, his plate was heaped with the most delicious food he’d ever tasted in his life. Stiles and Scott talked around mouthfuls of roast potato and baked chicken dripping with gravy. Their goblets were filled with pumpkin juice, which Stiles had never tried before, but he decided he liked it. He especially liked that no matter how much he ate or drank, there always seemed to be more.

By the time dinner was over, Stiles couldn’t stop yawning. He leaned on Scott a bit when they were leaving the great hall, following the loud calls of, “First years, this way!” Everyone else seemed to know where they were going. Scott and Stiles shuffled into a line and waited around a bit.

A dark haired prefect caught sight of them and his nostrils flared. He marched down the line and loomed over Scott and Stiles. Then he just stood there breathing heavily, and Stiles made the mistake of meeting his eyes.

“I’m sorry, I don’t speak eyebrow.” Scott elbowed him in the ribs.

The prefect pinched the bridge of his nose and said through gritted teeth, “You’re not _Slytherins_ ,” and then he gave Stiles a significant look. The sort of look that implied he wanted to chop Stiles up into tiny pieces.

“Oh. Um, sorry?” Stiles squeaked, shrinking away.

“Just…get into your own line,” he growled.

Stiles was all for that plan, but his body wasn't listening to him.

“Derek! Stop scaring my firsties!”

The prefect, _Derek,_ sighed as a girl with a mass of blonde curls strutted over to them and planted her hands on her hips. Derek turned and stalked away, muttering under his breath.

“Thank you,” Stiles said sincerely.

The girl tipped her head back and laughed. “There’s no need. Us badgers stick together,” she winked. “And we also eat snakes for breakfast." She shot a pointed look after Derek. "Come and join the rest of the group. I’ll be with you in a second, I’m just rounding up the stragglers.”

“Stiles,” Scott whispered, drawing him to the side. “Do you know who that was?”

“No,” he said slowly.

“That was-”Scott looked around before tugging Stiles closer, “ _Derek Hale.”_ He paused for dramatic effect.

Stiles blinked. “Who’s Derek Hale?”

Scott gaped at him. “Have you been living under a rock?! Everyone knows about the Hales… especially since the fire.”

The Hufflepuff prefect came back with Jackson behind her, dragging his feet.

“-Alright first years, follow your big sister Erica- and pay attention, because you only get the tour once.”

Erica led them down many twists and turns, and Stiles wondered how he was going to remember them all. Scott looked just as confused when they stopped outside a stack of barrels. Stiles inspected one curiously.

“If you don’t want to be drenched in vinegar I suggest you watch,” Erica said, drawing her wand. “The entrance to each common room is protected so that only those who know the password can get inside.” She approached one of the barrels and tapped out a rhythm. The barrel hesitated for a moment and then it and four others hopped out of the way to reveal a round copper door. They had to duck down to pass through it.

The common-room was a wide, open space arranged around a hearth. There were several plush armchairs with black and white striped blankets draped over the back. There were nooks in the wall with space for three or four students to curl up comfortably and the ground was sort of spongy like they were walking on earth. The copper lamps cast a warm yellow glow and Stiles felt his eyelids droop.

“First years have to water the plants each morning,” Erica explained, “Some of them like to be sung to, and for heaven’s sake _don’t_ provoke the spiky one in the corner. Anyone with pets should keep an eye on them; some of the plants are poisonous if ingested.

“The common room belongs to everyone, and if I find any chocolate frog wrappers lying around the place _we shall have words.”_ Erica’s eyes glinted and Stiles shuddered.

“Now, off to bed. Classes start tomorrow at nine. Make sure you’re in the hall before eight thirty or you won’t get any breakfast.”

The boy’s dorm was a round room with beds arranged in a half circle. Their trunks and belongings were in a pile in the centre of the room. Scott and Stiles picked beds beside each other and set about unpacking. They were too tired to talk much, but when the lights went out, Stiles whispered “Goodnight Scott,” and Scott whispered back, “G’night Stiles.”

“Shut up,” Jackson grumbled from the other side of the room.

 

* * *

 

 

The next morning, Stiles felt like he’d been dropped into the middle of a large family. Where he was used to it being just him and his dad, suddenly he had heaps of older siblings mumbling ‘good morning’ and ‘good luck on your first day’ as they all stumbled around the common room together.

Erica’s hair was like a lion’s mane when she padded through the main room still dressed in her pajamas. When she reappeared later in her uniform she looked immaculate, but Stiles knew he would never really be scared of her when he drew up the image of her shuffling around in bunny slippers and yawning so wide that her eyes closed.

Their first class was herbology with Professor Longbottom. He gave them a general introduction to greenhouse one and pointed out some of the plants they would be working with that year. For the rest of the lesson they had to familiarize themselves with the different types of fertilizer that were kept in the far corner in preparation for the potting exercise later that week. They had to ‘get a feel’ for the different properties of earth and their suitability for growing.

Scott and Stiles left the class with their robes smelling like decaying leaves, and Stiles figured the dragon dung would stay under his nails for the rest of the week.

Potions class was taught by a professor with a soft but authoritative voice who introduced himself as Professor Deaton. He dressed in simple white robes and moved around the classroom as he walked, checking that they knew how to use each and every piece of equipment that was on the first year list.

Although the classroom was in the dungeons, it wasn’t damp or depressing. Professor Deaton had a calm aura that seemed to fill up the room. He encouraged them to partner up with the Ravenclaws, but as there were more Hufflepuffs than Ravenclaws, Scott and Stiles got to stay together. Whether that was a good thing or not would be revealed over the term, and he thought Professor Deaton gave them a long look out of the corner of his eye. It was like he could sense their combined clumsiness and was predicting years of damage control in the future.

Scott was practically vibrating all the way through lunch and couldn’t wait to tell Stiles all about their upcoming flying lesson.

“First years aren’t allowed brooms, but you have to try out for the Quidditch team with me next year!”

“Hold up,” Stiles said, pausing with his bacon sandwich half-way to his mouth, “Did you say _brooms_?”

“I keep forgetting you don’t know anything,” Scott teased.

“I’m learning,” Stiles said defensively. “Pity me. I must have had the most boring childhood ever, stuck in school...learning about long division and how to use commas.”

“I had a private tutor for a while,” Scott confessed. “My dad works in the Ministry; that’s how I know Jackson and Lydia. Our parents work in different departments, but we used to meet each other at all the events and dinners. I bet muggle school was way more interesting.”

Stiles looked at his sandwich glumly. School had been so lonely. He’d hated it.

Scott put his hand on Stiles’ shoulder, bringing him back to the present. “So; brooms. I hope you’re not afraid of heights- but, if you totally are, don’t worry. It’s really safe.”

-

Scott was a liar. Scott was a lying liar that _lied._ Brooms were evil; brooms were _the worst._

They got to the pitch early and had to wait around for the Gryffindors to show up. Stiles recognised the girl with the bob straight away. Allison Argent, the first girl to get sorted. She looked good in her Gryffindor robes. She walked tall and the others seemed to fall into place around her naturally. She gave Lydia a little wave, and Lydia returned it with a bounce.

The brooms were lined up on the field in two neat rows. Professor Finstock was a wild-eyed man that barked at them to ‘get into position’ and ‘hurry up because I don’t have all day’.

Stiles ended up in line opposite Allison. He had to watch as she flawlessly summoned her broom to her hand and mounted it in one fluid motion, earning a round of applause. Stiles’ own broom teased him by rising up a little bit and then flopping back to the ground, refusing to budge. Scott tried to sweet-talk Stiles’ broom into cooperating with him, but the brooms were _assholes_.

Professor Finstock insisted that he be called ‘Coach’ and refused to listen if you called him anything else, even if you were shrieking in terror because your boom suddenly decided to roll over slowly until you were dangling from it ten feet off the ground.

The best part of the lesson for Stiles was when Jackson’s broom tried to buck him, but Jackson seemed to be naturally gifted in the broom riding department and managed to stay on without flailing like an idiot, which was what Stiles had been doing for the past half hour.

Professor Finstock finally called it a day and the Hufflepuffs trudged to the storeroom to return their brooms.

“It’s alright, you’ll get better,” Scott said.

“I doubt it,” Stiles grumbled.

Stiles wrote a long letter to his dad about the deviousness of brooms and he and Scott spent the rest of the evening trying to find the owlery before dinner. Before he knew it, his first day was over.


	4. The Silver Wolf

The light coming through the windows was dull when Stiles woke the next morning. The sky was covered in a thick blanket of clouds. Their grey underbellies threatened rain and Stiles was glad that the classes timetabled for that day all took place within the castle. He dressed quickly, movements jerky and uncoordinated. He couldn’t shake the slightly nauseous feeling that had settled in his gut. He chalked it up to delayed nerves. There’d simply been too much information for him to linger on feeling worried. His first day had gone quite well, better than he’d expected at any rate.

History of Magic was on the fourth floor. He and Scott shuffled in and took seats close to the back of the room. The desks were arranged in ascending rows like seats in an amphitheatre. The classroom was furnished like it was also part study, dark reds and browns dominating the room. Even the stained glass windows, though they were covered with a thick layer of dust, let in a small bit of red light. The fireplace was lit and the room was uncomfortably warm. Stiles took out his copy of _A History of Magic_ and propped it on the slightly angled desk, not knowing if he’d need it. The Professor continued to write at his desk, even after all the seats were filled.

Finally, the Professor let out a long, dragging sigh. “First years,” he said. Well, more like accused. “My name is Professor Harris.

“For years, I’ve had the _pleasure_ of teaching History of Magic to first through fifth year, and, over the years, I have condensed my teaching method. It’s quite simple really. I assign you pages to read, you read the pages, you write essays. If you have any questions, read your book. If you still have questions, go to the library. There are more books.” Harris fixed his cold eyes on Stiles and cleared his throat loudly.

Stiles stopped tapping his quill against his ink pot.

When the silence was such that a pin could drop and be heard outside the corridor, Professor Harris stood up. He paced the front of the room with his spidery hands clasped firmly behind his back and his face grew pinched. “House points will be _deducted_ for each question you ask that I deem to be a gross waste of my time, and, in addition, I am not in the habit of _awarding_ house points for correctly answered questions. I find the whole business of the house cup silly, and a detriment to your learning. You shouldn’t need to be bribed to do your assignments...”

 _‘House cup?’_ Stiles mouthed to himself.

“You again!” Professor Harris barked, “ _Quiet.”_

Stiles spluttered indignantly. “But I didn’t even-”

“ _Ten points from Hufflepuff.”_

“But-”

“Fif _teen,”_ Harris said.

Lydia Martin turned around from her seat in the middle row and glared at Stiles. It was the first time she had looked at him on purpose and his chest hurt a little bit when he thought about how she must hate him already. He hadn’t even gotten a chance to talk to her yet. He sunk back into the bench, simmering.

“Such a shame,” Harris crooned. His eyes slanted like a cat’s. “Especially as I happen to be the Hufflepuff house head.”

Stiles had to bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself from opening his mouth for the rest of the lesson.

-

“I can’t believe that just happened.”

“He took away so many points,” Scott said mournfully. “Why would he do that to his own house?”

Lydia turned on Stiles when they reached the end of the corridor. “You are going to earn back all of those points, Stilinski. This year, Hufflepuff is going to come out on top.” She flipped her hair, and a wave of vanilla momentarily stunned Stiles into a state of bliss. Jackson shoulder-checked Stiles as he walked past, knocking him back to reality.

“I’ve got to find some way to earn back those points.”

“Good luck with that,” Scott muttered. “Harris really hates you.”

“He totally hates _everyone_.”

“…Mostly you.”

“Yeah,” Stiles sighed, “Mostly me.”

They took the stairs two at a time down to the third floor and hurried to the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom. The room was buzzing with excitement when they arrived. This was going to be their first real _magic_ class.

A few students were talking animatedly about their wands and what had happened in Ollivander’s. Stiles listened to the talk of sparks flying and strange melodies and dipped his hand into his robe to feel for his own wand. Nothing exciting had happened to him. In fact, it had taken him quite a long time to buy his wand because he couldn’t get any of the ones that Ollivander showed him to work. When Stiles finally walked out of the wand shop, it was with a spalted dogwood wand that had a bit of a kink in it where the wood had warped slightly, probably due to being kept in a damp corner.

The door opened suddenly, cutting through the chatter, and in swept the blonde Professor from the sorting ceremony. She exuded warmth and grinned widely at the wide-eyed students, spreading her arms in welcome. “Sorry I’m late,” she said. “I must be setting a terrible example. I’m Professor Argent, and the lovely lady in the first row is my niece, Allison.”

Allison ducked her head, blushing prettily.

“Sorry for that, kiddo, but I’m under strict orders to embarrass you this year,” Professor Argent winked. “Congratulations to all of you for making it this far, the first days are always the most terrifying. To ease you in slowly, I thought today we’d begin with a fire-making spell.”

A ripple of excitement spread through the room.

“It’s a quick little spell that’s useful for lighting candles, fireplaces…” her eyes danced. “But since it’s your first time, don’t expect the candle to light straight away.”

Professor Argent opened the cabinet next to her desk and took out a box of candle stubs. She went around the room and passed them out individually. When she reached Stiles’ desk she paused. Up close, he could smell her perfume. It was spicy, reminding him vaguely of potpourri. When she leaned over, the silver pendant she wore swung forward. The silver shone like it was alive, the metal swirled and shifted around the wolf’s jewelled eye.

“Here you go,” she said. Their fingers brushed as he took the candle. “Stilinski, right?”

“Yeah,” Stiles said slowly.

“I remember you from the sorting ceremony; the sorting hat took quite a long time deciding on you.”

“Was it really that long?” he asked, squirming a little.

Professor Argent laughed. “It’s nothing to worry about,” she assured him. “Usually, if the hat’s having trouble placing you it’s because you’ve got a lot going on inside your head.” She looked at him with concern. “You know, if you feel that you’re having trouble settling in, a good place to start is your head of house…”

“ _Harris_?” Stiles squawked. “Um, I mean, Professor Harris… I’m sure he’s like, really busy…”

“Well,” said Professor Argent, “If you ever need to talk, my door is always open. I’m happy to help.”

Professor Argent handed Scott a candle and then moved on to the second row.

When everyone had a candle, Professor Argent set the box on her desk. “The incantation for this spell is _Incendio._ Really listen to how the word sounds. Imagine the hissing sound that fire makes. Think of the warmth. Hold your wand out in front of you, quite close to the candle and recite the spell. _”_

Stiles gripped his wand tightly. ‘ _Incendio, incendio,’_ he thought, staring at the candle. He hesitated and took a quick peak around the room. Everyone was wearing a look of concentration and muttering the spell, trying it out on their tongues.

He took a deep breath and held it inside him, allowing his chest to expand fully. “Incendio,” he said, pointing his wand at the wick. Nothing happened. “In _cen_ dio,” he tried again, playing up the sibilance. He thought about what Professor Argent said. _Think about fire. How it looks, how it sounds._

Gradually, the scent of melting wax began to weave its way through the room as one by one, candles began to smoke or light for a few precious seconds before they were snuffed by quick, excited breaths. Beside him, Scott was having more luck. The wick had turned black and there was an encouraging curl of smoke wafting up from it. By the end of the lesson, Lydia and Allison amongst others managed to successfully light their candles.

Professor Argent waved her hand and snuffed the little lights out, ending the class.

Stiles returned his untouched candle to the box on her desk, feeling disappointed. “Don’t worry about it,” Professor Argent said, laying a hand on his shoulder sympathetically.

But somehow, that made him feel worse.


End file.
